The gloomy mantle of the night,
Which ou my sinking spirit steals,
Will vanish at the morning light
Which God my east, my sun reveals.
Come away—come away from that silent bier,
For a heart bruised with sorrows is resting there,
And the phrenzied spirit has fled—
For the mercy of man it had sought in vain,
(That mercy which rends the heart in twain)
To the mercy of God is sped.
Let him rest—let him rest in his cahu death sleep,
Let no sordid slaves here their vigil keep—
He has parted from all beneath;
Though no requiem lay we may dare to raise,
See! the tranquil smile of his beauteous days
Come back with the shadow of death.
He will wake—he will wake from life's fever'd dream
And the j^oodness of God on his spirit will beam,
Who hath doubted and dreaded his power:
The good heart wild passions might tear from repose,
As the whii'lwind may shatter the bloom of the rose-
Let us weep o'er the wreck of the flower.
It is life—it is life—is a fitful disease.
And death to the maniac is comfort and ease—
The path of despair he has trod;
The spirit in darkness its progress has I'un,
But the eagle unbounded knows his way to the sun—
The contrite in heart to their God.
He had sought—he had sought in the folly of pride.
What the wisdom of mercy hath kindly denied—
He had fought with the troubled wind:
See! the throes of death have had power to raise
The unruffled smile of his joyous days,
As thev freed the bewildered mind.
He is free— he is free from the shackles of earth,
This moment of horror—the hour of his birth!
His dwelling of clay was his tomb.
Though the darkest wreaths we spread on his bier,
And each heart sheds o'er him its bitterest tear,
The blest hail the wanderer home.